Guardian Angel
by Vevici
Summary: (Warning: character death) Alfred wakes up from a dream, which brought back memories from the past. Along with his long-time question, who exactly is Arthur?


Hetalia©Hidekaz Himaruya

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I had a dream that night; a dream that once was a reality. I dreamt that I was twelve again; young, wild, alone and chronically hungry. I was at the marketplace, where the streets were crowded with old tattered tents of old smelly merchants. People with stained shirts and faded skirts crowded around the stalls like flies hovering around the dog poo left at the corner of a house. A boy, who appeared to be as old as I was then shoved past me, never looking back as he pushed his way through the crowd. A thief, I knew. It was the way he ran- swerving in and out of the crowd –I had done it a couple of times before, when a guard had caught me taking apples from a cart. It was only when a hand pulled my hair that I fully realized what the boy had done. I felt a big hand inside my pocket, fingers closing on something that wasn't supposed to be there. I had tried to explain, pointing where the real thief had run to. But the boy was nowhere in sight. And I had a pouch of coins that did not belong to me.

"You lying thief!" The bearded man in a uniform had spat at me, throwing me on the ground. His boot landed heavily on my stomach, and even in my sleep, I felt the pain. The guard picked me up again and dragged me away from the plaza. "Do you know what we do to thieves like you?"

I began kicking and punching after I heard his question. Everyone knew what happened to a caught thief. The scarred old man with only stumps for hands that slept near my corner was an example. I screamed that I didn't steal anything, I begged for help. But no one listened to me. Eyes, filled with pity or contempt, watched as I was taken to the town plaza, where a flagging post stood. In a matter of seconds, my hands were tied; my only decent shirt on the ground. I stood silently, rigidly as I imagined what would happen next. Twenty lashes for lying to an official, then an ax through my wrists for theft. I could feel tears forming in my eyes, the first ones since my mother had died. The big man rolled out the long strip of leather and grinned. He raised his arms, and I turned my head away. I heard the snap of leather on skin, but I never felt the burn.

"I'll take the blame," an unfamiliar voice said.

That was the first time I saw Arthur.

"Isn't it strange to dream about that day?" I asked Arthur after I told him about it. He was parting the curtains and opening the windows. The scent of roses was strong, even from my bed.

"I don't think so. I often dream about the past." Arthur turned to me, his blonde hair flailing in the breeze. The look in his green eyes was kind, just as it had been ever since he took my place in the flagging pole. I had asked him once why had he saved me. He had simply said, "I want to protect you." Then he had smiled and went on saying how lucky we were that the guard believed that I was Arthur's 'troubled' son and agreed to let him take my place. When the guard had dumped Arthur's body at the plaza that night, naked and coated with blood, I didn't think we were lucky at all.

"I made breakfast. Eggs and toasted bread. I'll go get it for you." Arthur said suddenly.

I watched him leave the room, his back straight and head held high. His movements were fluid and gentle. I couldn't help but wonder, as I did many times before, what a man like Arthur could be doing in small, old cottage house on a hill outside the town. Not that I have complains about the cozy house; it had become my home too, after all. It was just I imagined him plenty of times as a young prince, with his own castle and nothing to worry about but tending to his rose garden. But Arthur wasn't like that. Although he has that noble air around him, he was still humble and kind and content and a little bit of a worry-wart. He was not a prince, but not a common folk, either. He was something else altogether.

"Arthur," I said as he returned with a tray in his hands. "You never told me what you really are."

He sat down next to me. "I thought you already knew? You told me yourself, remember?"

I took a toast and took a tiny bite before I answered, "I said you were my guardian angel. But I was I kid. And you never confirmed it. You just- there! That smile!" I sighed as Arthur smiled again. It was not his sad smile, nor his happy smile, not even his kind smile. It was a smile that seemed to be a combination of the three. Arthur and I may have lived under the same roof since we met, but he was still full of mystery. And it bothered me to know that there were things I didn't know about him. Even now, I have no idea why Arthur doesn't seem to age, or how it was possible that Arthur's wounds from the flagging healed instantly, or what Arthur's true nature is.

"Are you really not telling me? Not even now?"

"Alfred, I am what you want me to be. Father, brother, friend…"

True, Arthur had been all that for me and more. When I was young, he acted as my father, providing me food and shelter and love. As I grew older, he was the one who guided me, who helped me in school. He was the friend who told me I was stupid as he guarded my back in a fight. He even gave me comfort and release during my turbulent teen age years. I chuckled as I remembered how uncomfortable Arthur had gotten when he explained the changes I would have to go through in puberty.

"What is it?" He asked, raising a thick eyebrow.

"Nothing. You'll be my angel then?"

"I will."

I took his pale smooth hands in my own. The first time that I had held them, Arthur's hand would completely cover mine. Now, my hands were bigger and older. I stared at my wrinkled hand, thinking about the years that had gone by. All those picnics Arthur and I had before we went for a swim at the nearby river, the times when we climbed trees and shouted at the top of our lungs. And that time Arthur unexpectedly joined me and my friends from town when we sneaked around the baths for the women.

"Alfred?" Arthur's voice was soft, worried. The only time I had heard him speak like that was when I snuck out of the house in the middle of the night to meet a girl in town. I had come home the next day, greeted by a very depressed Arthur. "I thought you already left me," he had whispered into my chest. After that, I made sure to tell him whenever I went out to avoid worrying him.

"Arthur, I think I might be leaving you today." I said it as quietly as I could, but the impact on Arthur couldn't be any different if I had screamed at him. His eyes turned wide, gleaming like emeralds.

"Why would you say something like that?" he whispered. His voice trembled with anger.

"I'm sorry. How many years has it been? Since we met?"

"Eighty-six."

I cracked a smile. "That many? I suddenly feel tired. How many years did I promise to stay with you?"

"You didn't give me an exact number."

"Oh? What did I say?"

"Forever."

"Will eighty-six years be enough, then?"

"Alfred…"

"It was more than enough for me."

His mysterious smile came back then. "I see." He leaned down and placed a kiss on my forehead. "When?"

"I don't know. But today."

Arthur nodded his head, his smile never faltered. "Is there anything you want to do today?"

I laughed. "Arthur, I could barely get out of bed. But, there is something I want you to do." I threw the blanket to the side and patted the space next to me. "Stay in bed with me until then."

Arthur chuckled a bit as he climbed onto my bed. We stayed huddled together till the sky got dark, not bothering to light the lamp. By then, I felt sleepy and my body felt heavier and heavier until I could no longer feel it.

"Arthur," I whispered into his ear. And he understood. He lifted himself up on his elbow and looked down at me. "Will you be the one to take me there? To heaven?"

"I am your angel, aren't I?"

"You are. You will be with me, then?"

"I will, Alfred."

I closed my eyes, and I felt Arthur's soft lips brush against mine. When I opened my eyes, I stared at Arthur's beautiful, unchanging face. His lips curved into a sad smile. Green eyes filled with tears. That was first and last time I saw Arthur cry. And I'd wish it had been only a dream.

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Sheez. It's been a long time since I wrote this fic that I even forgot about it. And now I'm having feels over my own writing. Why did I even write such a depressing story?

p.s I don't know the right genre for this, so I just put in angst.


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